Nothing More To Say
by androidilenya
Summary: Fingon tries to convince his father to stay. Fingolfin doesn't listen. Oneshot. Written for B2MEM 2013.


**Written for Back To Middle-earth Month 2013.**

**Prompt from Day One: Courage: ****"He passed over Dor-nu-Fauglith like a wind amid the dust, and all that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking that Oromë himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar." **

**From The Silmarillion Chapter 18, 'Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin'**

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"Atar, wait." Fingon hurried after the taller Elf as Fingolfin strode down the corridor, eyes burning with rage and grief. "Atar, please..."

"My brother's sons have been slain by Morgoth. My people are dying," Fingolfin gritted out through clenched teeth, staring fixedly ahead, resolutely refusing to meet his son's eyes. "And you advise me to wait, Findekáno?" He reached the door to his rooms and flung it open, the heavy wood thudding against the wall.

Fingon followed his father in, biting his lip. He could almost hear his sister's voice: _Talk to him, Findekáno. You're the only one he listens to.  
_

_Only on good days, Ireth. And never when he's in a rage like this. But I'll try._

"Rushing into battle like this only gives Morgoth the advantage," he offered. "If you'd just wait, gather a force and make a plan-"

"I've had enough with plans," Fingolfin spat, pulling his armor down from its stand in a clatter of steel. "Will you help me with this or should I ride off unarmored to face Morgoth?"

Fingon lifted the silver and blue breastplate and Fingolfin stepped into it, reaching up behind his back to buckle it. For a few moments there was silence, as the son helped the father strap on the heavy steel and chain mail, forged in Valinor, wrought in the blue and silver of Fingolfin's house. His shield was blue as well, overlayed with countless crystals that sparkled like stars as Fingolfin lifted it into the sunlight.

_What do I say? How do I make him see reason? _Fingon frowned, wishing he had someone else here, someone to help him - but Turgon and Aredhel were in the Hidden City, safe - or so he hoped - and his cousins were scattered, leagues away or dead.

So many had been lost.

_And you will lose your father, as well, if you do not stop this madness,_ a voice that sounded almost like Maedhros whispered.

"Bring me my sword." Fingolfin's voice was flat, face a mask of stone-cold anger - but his eyes burned brighter than fire, filled with something Fingon couldn't quite put a name to, something that made him shiver.

Wordlessly, he crossed to the carved oaken chest at the other end of the room, moving as slowly as he dared. There was a hollow feeling of despair settling in the put of his stomach. If he couldn't keep his father from leaving...

_But you're used to people leaving, aren't you?_ Curufin taunted. Fingon flinched from the memory of his cousin, but couldn't escape the scornful words. _Even your darling Maitimo left you, let the ships burn. So why shouldn't your father?_

Fingon lifted the lid of the chest. There was a leather wrapped bundle in it that he carried to Fingolfin, still dragging his feet. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it would make his father stay.

Ringil glittered like ice as Fingolfin swept it from its sheath. His father held it up to the light, turning it, watching the sun flash off it. Despite himself, Fingon couldn't help but admire - just for a moment - his father's courage. Riding off to face the Foe of the World alone like this, with no backup and no escape plan...

On second thought...

_Seems more stupidity than courage,_ Caranthir drawled, and for once Fingon was forced to agree with his cousin.

"Atar, you're the High King of the Noldor. You can't just go off to face an enemy you could never hope to beat in single combat." Not that Fingon doubted his father's skill, but there was a difference - a _quite substantial _difference - between fighting Orcs and fighting a god.

"A king protects his people. I will not sit by idly and allow Morgoth to slaughter the Noldor with impunity." Fingolfin sheathed Ringil and started for the door, armor clanking softly. "Besides. There is no hope for us. If I am to fall, I would rather it be now than after I am forced to watch everything I love fall to ruin."

Fingon caught his father's arm. "It is not all lost yet, though," he hissed. "You can't just give up, atar! There's always something to keep fighting for, can't you see that?"

"If there is still hope... I cannot see it, Findekáno." For a moment, Fingolfin looked into Fingon's eyes, a tenderness there - longing for days past, perhaps, or love for his child. He reached up, brushed his son's dark hair back from his face, and kissed his forehead. "You're the king now, my son."

The shorter Elf stiffened. "But you're coming back, atar," he protested, even though he knew it was a lie. _You have to come back,_ he wanted to scream. _Or better yet, don't even leave. Stay here._

"I do not plan to return." Fingolfin's voice was hoarse with anger and despair. "There is nothing left for me here."

_I'm here, you still have me, but if you leave now and throw away your life like this, I won't even have you anymore._

"Atar, please."

Fingolfin stepped away, that empty look back in his eyes. He turned away, and Fingon felt something in him twist.

"Atar..." _Don't leave me, please don't leave me, I can't do this on my own._

"I love you, Findekáno. Never forget that." And then his father was gone, and Fingon was alone, hands shaking, the silence pressing in around him.

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**~end~**

**Review please?**


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